The only reason that I am sending you this long, and possibly quite boring, bit is because this was a new travel experience to us and, we dunno, but you might be just the kind of people who would enjoy it as much as we did. We spent two delightful weeks in an apartment in a small village in rural Provence with a rental car and freedom, freedom, freedom---and we simply loved the experience. (And, by George, the cost was surprisingly reasonable.) It may not have started too well because I goofed. I totally goofed. Upon arrival in France I saw that the liquor store in the airport was selling White Cassis, something that I could hardly believe truly exists, and thought that I'd pick up couple of bottles on the way home. While later roaming around in Provence I found that it comes from an area a trifle west of Marseille, is made only in small quantities, and is said to be very good. So, although we were almost always in a rural area I kept checking into every place that sold wine (usually grocery stores) and never located any. But still calm and self assured on the way out of France I reopened my search and combed the liquor outlets at the Marseille airport and at Chas d' G in Paris and, damn, it was nowhere to be found! Ah, well, at my age I have learned to face tragedy.

And now as to the trip--- as I already mentioned, it was the first of it's kind for us and it was fantastic. We loved it. We arrived a day early so we could rest up at a hotel in Marseille which worked out well for us. We were then driven to Avignon where Avis provided a car to us and someone pointed off in the general direction of the village in which we had rented a place to stay and we learned our very first lesson about driving rural Provence roads. They are narrow, they are curvy, and if driven fast could easily be deadly which does not seem to at all disturb the occasional French driver we saw. Perhaps even worse to the novice, is the fact that while technically even the most obscure roads seem to have a number when reading a map, this is a fact largely to be ignored because once you are driving you find that most of the road signs do not even show the number, and on those that do they are only 1 1/2 inches high and badly faded . To get to a town or a village one should first identify the names of all towns and villages between one's starting and finishing point and then list them sequentially. Then look about and a small sign will point to the first of these and upon reaching it look for a sign to the next---etc, etc. To add to that, the French enthusiastically plant traffic circles virtually everywhere with each outlet road having a multitude of small signs, and the drivers within the circles have the right of way over the drivers attempting to enter the circles which is a good thing because it gives the drivers within a circle a few complete turns so they might read all the signs before locating one that looks hopeful. And while there are other right of way rules, this is the only one that need be remembered because in all other cases all French drivers believe that they have the right of way and it is best if you respect their point of view.

Our apartment was quite likely a mother-in-law suite before being put to commercial use. It was lovely and furnished with some pieces of a quality well beyond anything you would expect of tourist accommodations, even very good ones. Our very dear little old landlady spoke unintelligible French and super speedy Spanish upon our arrival---and at length. We bobbed our heads intelligently and that seemed to work and we did not see much more of her except for a short "discussion" the following morning. The night before, I fell in the tile floored shower, broke two ribs and the shower. We offered to pay but she brought her son in to fix it and would not hear of our paying for the damage. We had two bedrooms which turned out to be a blessing because as I shifted positions in my sleep (and I wasn't getting much) I would involuntarily scream with pain which, of course, would awaken Doris. And these incidents were not infrequent so I moved into the other bedroom. And we found that third world medicine is not too bad. A doctor of distinctly limited English skill prescribed pain pills and a flexible bandage which he said that after purchasing it at the pharmacy we should put it on "not too tight and not too loose", and collected 45 euros. He also sent us to a radiologist saying that we should see him again only if the radiologist suggested it. The radiologist was a pleasant woman who gave me a sonogram at some length before directing her assistant to take a few "standard" shots. She too spoke very little English (English was rare and extremely limited everywhere in rural Provence, even in restaurants, cafes, etc----Doris carried us magnificently because her manner was such that everyone liked her for trying and would work with her in the friendliest way---it was amazingly pleasant---so different from Paris.) The Dr. said that I broke two ribs but did not need to go back to the original doctor since he had already prescribed pain pills and she gave us copies of the x-rays collected 170 euros and that was it except for the 47 euros at the pharmacy. (We bought trip insurance which should cover all this---so we will see.) In view of having had a sonogram I had expected to be advised of the sex of the baby but, perhaps because of her limited English, I was not.)

And a bit about Provence We found it gorgeous----lush, colorful, ever, ever, ever so beautiful. And grape fields! Provence is not known for turning out great wines but it must turn out a huge volume and it does come up with some very good ones. Interestingly, local wines were very inexpensive and when we would pause at mom and pop cafes for delightful lunches, a diet coke would be more costly than a half liter of the house wine! And the house wines were always good. "Sin falta" as we say in Mexico when we are really positive, i.e. "without fail". And we drove in various directions every day and often did not reach our planned destination because we would become so charmed by some village along the way that we would spend the rest of our day there. Wonderful! And as much as I always have loved the impressionists, I love and respect them ever so much more now. As we took our drives I wanted the ability to paint so badly that I felt pain. Gasoline is more than $1.00 a liter there and one sees a great many putt-putt motorcycles and I so very much wanted to have one, strap on my easel, canvas, palette and paints and just stop wherever I wanted; lift the cycle off of the narrow road and set up my easel and get going. To wrap this part up, one impressionist whose name momentarily escapes me was known for painting a certain mountain many times and I used to wonder if he was simply commercial---he found a good thing that sold and he kept doing it. I was ever so wrong. As we were driving to Mont Ventoux one day we would come around a curve in the road and there it would be in its breathtaking beauty sitting above a village far below. Then we would go on less than three hundred yards around a couple of more curves and there it would be with no village in sight, just beautiful lush fields below it---and a different light.....and that, too, should be painted. When I remember who that long since dead painter was that I once doubted I will send my apologies out into space in the hope that they catch up with him.

And to wind this up with just a couple of more thoughts and experiences. We very seldom saw any of the other folk who had come to Provence at the same time to be located in other towns and villages in the area, but when we did we were impressed. They were far more live than one would hope to meet in Cancun on one of those "We will even peel your grapes for you." tours. And while there were some gray hairs (though none nearly as grey as ours), they averaged younger than most groups in our experience.

Finally, upon our departure we again took an extra day in Marseille. We drove down in our late model little 2 door Opel stick drive which turned out to be a damn fine and even lively car for our purpose and much more manageable than the bus I was tempted to rent, and our purpose was to have the world famous bouillabaisse at the renowned Miramar restaurant. In France, or at least Provence, there seems to be a law that restaurant prices be posted outside. The Miramar (also famed for its high prices) is on a street filled with attractive restaurants and I noticed that the ala-carte price for bouillabaisse seemed to run from 21 to 28 euros which were trading at around a dollar each. I told Doris the Miramar would be double and I was close---48 euros. Doris planned to have some other things but our waiter seemed to be saying that it was for two so she went with that also and was delighted that she did. Strange; a lovely large attractive dish with a deep brown broth is put before each of you and you are then served with an attractively arranged goodly amount of toast rounds, and aioli (a garlic mayonnaise) plus a sizable number of peeled perfectly sized garlic cloves. One rubs a clove onto a toast round, then drops it into the broth and spoons a dollop of aioli onto it. AMBROSIA! This lovely practice goes on and on and should the broth get a bit low there is a waiter there without having been summoned to add more. (Swallows of the house red between bites wasn't hurting anything either--we wound up putting away a liter. What the hell--we'd returned the car to Avis and were taking a taxi back to the hotel!) After completing the broth, toast rounds and garlic we each had placed in front of us a large plate of fabulous and gorgeous assorted seafoods in a positively scary quantity and with a bit more broth. As we closed in on the finish, and we knew that we were going to be unable to, the waiter came by and courteously and sincerely asked: "More fish?" Coffee was all that we could handle after that and when the check came it was not a surprise to see that each of our dishes ran 48 Euros and there was no way that I was about to complain. The service was so excellent that I added I added an amount for a tip even though service was included and still the total came to only around 130 Euros and we have eaten meals at twice that cost which we cannot even remember---and this was one we shall never forget.

And please forgive me---I knew from the beginning that this would be too long and quite possibly a bore, but Doris, having read this before I sent it, joins me in giving her full support to every single word.
Bob Rodney